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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24703249">La Bohème</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morrie_Wilde/pseuds/Morrie_Wilde'>Morrie_Wilde</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Merlin (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1980s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bookshop/café AU, Character Death, Drugs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, HIV/AIDS, Hurt No Comfort, Inspired by Music, Inspired by Poetry, M/M, Multi, One Shot, no happy ending</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:01:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,270</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24703249</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morrie_Wilde/pseuds/Morrie_Wilde</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Based in the 80's in London, Merlin owns a peculiar queer bookshop. His magic is how he sees the world. On a rainy day, like many others England has to offer, Arthur pushes the door of La Bohème to find shelter and meets Merlin. On the sofa, Morgana, Gwen, Lancelot and Gwaine are there. They are living in their own perfect world, in this strange little place Merlin calls La Bohème. The months pass, the world carries on, a tune plays on the radio, and somewhere, in the middle of London, the life of  these young people is being played, bookshelves for only witness. </p><p>Note : read the tags for potential triggers.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gwaine/Percival (Merlin), Gwen/Lancelot (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>La Bohème</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is story inspired by everything. Pride, Benjamin, Charles Aznavour, England, Wilde  and everything in beetween. </p><p>But most importantly, it's inspired by one person, which I hope will enjoy. </p><p>To you, Eve.<br/>A week, a year, a lifetime we used to say, it ended up being a few months. But what months. It doesn't erase the fact that this writing was and will always be yours, ours.<br/>We had La Bohème.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>La Bohème </p><p>It was February 1982. Somewhere in London. The radio was asking you if you wanted the Human Leagues. The flight 350 of the Japan Airline had crashed in Tokyo Bay, claiming twenty-four souls. A storm had sank Ocean Ranger, eighty-four workers from the oil platform lost their lives at sea.  Heavy clouds were hovering over the city, painting half the country as a Friedrich. But no rain could ever stop the capital from thriving, and its street  became a sea of umbrellas and rushed steps. In this crowd, one tiny dot was quicker than the others, mumbling and cursing at the British unapologetic weather. His overcoat was soaked, his leather shoes were squeaking in agony and his blond hair had turned dark, weighted down by the sky water. He gave up on his quest to find a cab. Running his hand through his wet hair, he considered just giving up altogether. To just lay there and let the rain swallow him into oblivion.  </p><p>Within the galore of jewellery boutiques, art galleries and dodgy pubs, he saw a small wooden door only dressed with an “we're open" plaque. At this specific moment, this could have been the door to Hell that he would still have pushed it. He was welcomed by heartfelt laughter, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and enough warmth to stop his shivering. The wooden door cracked as it was slowly closing, which seems to bring everybody's attention on him. He stood there, dripping on the floorboards. An other laugh came up from behind a bookshelf and a tall gangling man appeared. </p><p>“The wet sad puppy look really suits you.” The man was standing, leaned against the shelf, openly eyeing Arthur from head to toe. On the left side, four people were cramped on a dishevelled sofa, cups of coffee before them, silently giggling. </p><p>“Oh shut up.” Arthur did not mean to snap at the young man, but he was well aware of his current state, and being laughed at was the last thing he needed. </p><p>“Prat.” The man mumbled, but his eyes were still half closed from the grin he was harbouring. He disappeared somewhere behind the bookshelf again. </p><p>Arthur widen his eyes at the man's comment and looked back at the people, who seemed to nod in agreement with him. The blond moved his hands around, stunned by the attitude. If the man was the owner, he certainly had to revise his customer service. If the man was a customer, well Arthur had questions for the owner for allowing such a clientele. </p><p>He looked quickly at the floor, his clothes having created a pool of water around his feet and he groaned once more. But the thought of leaving this place and go back in the storm was sending shivers down his spine. So instead, he took off his overcoat and hanged it on his arm. Hesitant at first, he started to walk around what seemed to be a bookshop, checking books at random. Some of them were worn out, some were brand new. Some of them had prices, some others had none. There might have been a kind of classification system, but Arthur could not figure out which one it could be. His eyes trailed on a book, and as he read the synopsis of The Fox, he got startled by a hand on his shoulder, making him drop the book from D.H. Lawrence.</p><p>“Sorry. I did not mean to scare you.” The man apologised, a steaming mug in hand. “I made you a coffee. It looks like you need it.” </p><p>Arthur stared at the cup, dumbfounded. He then bent to pick up the book and placed it back on the shelf before seizing the coffee. </p><p>“Thanks.” And he truly meant it. The warm ceramic was like a woolen embrace in his palms, and he dared to close his eyes to enjoy the smell floating all around him. </p><p>“I also got some clothes if you want to get change. You know, in something that is dry.” The man pointed to his arm where a tee-shirt and a pair of jeans were neatly folded. </p><p>“What kind of bookshop has clothes to spare?” Arthur raised an eyebrow, ever so confused. </p><p>“It's from the lost and found.” </p><p>“Who loses a pair of trousers in a bookshop?” </p><p>“I don’t know. They just do?” The young man just shrugged and shoved the clothes in Arthur's arms, which almost ended in a coffee accident. Time for Arthur to look down at the clothes and back up again that the man was already gone. He checked over his shoulder and one of the person sitting on the sofa pointed to a door in the back. </p><p>“Bathroom is over there mate.” </p><p>He walked near the small table by the sofa and placed his cup there before going to the loo to get changed. On his way, he saw the young man in-between two shelves, sitting on the floor. His black hair was sticking up in every direction and he was biting at his bottom lip as his gaze was hovering over at least a dozen open books laid in front of him. A small radio was sitting next to him, but as soon as the spokesman dared to pronounce Thatcher's name, the young man rolled his eyes and tuned it off. </p><p>Arthur could see long pale fingers turning pages, as if they were looking for something they knew was there but could not find it. The young man frowned slightly as all his movements stopped. The blond saw two bright blue eyes meeting his through the messy dark locks of hair falling on the man's face.</p><p>“Can I help you?” </p><p>“No...I mean yes. Bathroom is there yes?” Arthur gestured awkwardly towards the chipped paint covered wooden plank which was meant to be a door. </p><p>“Yup.” The young man smiled again, from ear to ear as if showing someone to the bathroom was the greatest thing that happened to him that day. </p><p>Arthur shyly smiled back and pushed the dodgy piece of wood. As he tried to close it, it fell from its hinges and Arthur stood, with the whole door in his hands. He panicky strolled back to the young man, still holding the door. The man, who was still sitting in the floor, looked up from his book and giggled, loudly. His laugh alerted the rest of the group which appeared next to them. A long haired man held his hands in the hair, tears pearling in the corner of his eyes. </p><p>“Oh my god." the man puffed out before walking back to his sofa, where he could still be heard wheezing. One of the woman patted Arthur on the shoulder, a compassionate look on her face. Although a glint of mischief was also present. </p><p>The dark haired man finally jumped on his feet and grabbed the door from Arthur's hand and put it back in one expert move. When he was done, he placed his hands in his hips and contemplate the doorway. </p><p>“Yeah...I should have warn you about that. You need to take it off and put it back to open and close it.” </p><p>“How can a door fail to act as a door?” Arthur replied, struck by the nonchalance with which everybody seemed to go by. </p><p>“It just does?” The man shrugged again, still beaming. He then went back to sit in his field of printed pages, leaving a very confused Arthur by the not-really-a-door door. </p><p>The blond got changed, and the dry clothes felt like a blessing against his cold skin. He used his damp shirt to roughly dry his hair and emerged back in the bookshop, holding his ruined shoes in one hand, and his drenched clothes in the other. </p><p>The man was still immerged in his reading and Arthur just went back to what he considered the seating area. Before he could even say anything, the black woman snatched his clothes and placed them on a three legged chair by the entrance. She then seized his arm and sat him down on the furniture which should belonged in a landfill rather than a public place. With care, she handed him his cup of coffee and she sat on the armrest next to him.</p><p>“Feeling better?” Her voice was soft and truly concerned. She caressed his back lovingly, like a mother reassuring her child after a nightmare. </p><p>“Yeah. Thanks.” He looked back at her and gave her a small smile. Something about this place was making him feel welcomed, making him feel loved and it was disconcerting. </p><p>“I am Gwen by the way. Next to you, it’s Lance, my boyfriend. That’s Morgana. She looks scary but I swear she doesn’t bite.”</p><p>“Well. I don’t bite, I don’t bite...”</p><p>“You don’t. And the one rolling a cigarette over there is Gwaine. Don’t be scared by the long hair and leather jacket, he is actually a sweetheart.” </p><p>“Am I now?” Gwaine shot her a cheeky look as he licked the rolling paper. He tapped the cigarette on the table before lighting it on. </p><p>Gwen leaned towards Arthur’s ear and whispered something about Gwaine saving a kitten from a certain death just two days prior. Arthur turned back to the man who had crossed his legs, dirty leather boots on the table and laughed. </p><p>Gwaine dropped his head backwards, and whined. </p><p>“Not the baby cat story again Gwen!” </p><p>“Baby cat.” Lance repeated, hiding his giggle in his own mug. Gwaine blew the smoke towards the ceiling and crossed his arms on his chest, pouting.</p><p>“And,” Gwen continued, waving her hands towards the bookshelves, “ that’s Merlin, the owner.” </p><p>“The owner?” Arthur almost chocked on thin air. </p><p>“You have a problem with that?” Morgana barked, straightening herself as she rested her elbows on her knees. Arthur moved back slightly, his instinct screaming that this woman might actually bite. </p><p>“I...no. Not at all. I’m just surprised that someone this young has their own business already.” His answer seemed to satisfy Morgana, who leaned back in the sofa and started reading again, not without shouting one last glance at the blond. Arthur would never say it out loud, but he was glad that Lance was separating him from her. </p><p>“The place belongs to his uncle. He has no use for it since he retired to the country side so when Merlin talked to him about his project, Gaius gave him the keys. And this place was born.” She proudly looked around and smiled to herself. </p><p>“And what is this place exactly?” Arthur scanned the room looking for a clue, but as far as he was concerned, this could be bookshop, a library, a café or anything weirder really – he was still confused about the person who had forgotten their pair of jeans. </p><p>Gwaine chuckled and dropped his ashes in his mug, before shouting, startling everybody. </p><p>“Merlin! You wanna do your little speech? Blondie here is quite confused eh?” Morgana snatched his mug and shoved an ashtray in his palm instead. </p><p>Merlin appeared almost running, now barefoot and stopped himself by grabbing a bookshelf. </p><p>“Can I?” His childish joy was heartwarming and everybody looked at him with a soft expression. Gwen gave him a small nod as to confirm that he could. </p><p>“Alright!” Merlin walked the last steps separating him from the rest of group and grabbed a random cup from the small table. He took a large gulp and looked back at Arthur, his smile never fading away. “ Welcome to La Bohème! Here, we are queer and we don’t care. Do you wish to indulge yourself in Whitman?” He seized a book and threw it at Arthur. “Then be my guest! Maybe you're more a Blake kind if guy? Bookshelf on the left, right at the bottom! Whatever you need, chances are : I have it! Mind you, what you are looking for might be used to fix a wobbly shelf.” Merlin tapped on one of the wooden furniture and pretended to held it as if it was about to collapse. “You can read it in, or buy it. You fix the price! If I believe it to be fair, it’s yours! Although, anything from Seamus Heaney stays here, no matter the price.” The young man suddenly had a serious face, which made Gwen shake her head. </p><p>“You really have a problem with Heaney mate!” Gwaine said before anyone else could. The room filled itself with positives hmms. Merlin looked around, pained. </p><p>“He is great, alright!” he picked up a random book and opened it in the middle, pretending to read from from it. “The clear weather of juniper-" </p><p>“Yeah yeah Merlin. You pour it, drink it, yada yada yada.” Gwaine exhaled, more amused than really annoyed. </p><p>“I’d be happy to hear it?” Arthur said shyly. He never had a real passion for poetry, but he did not mind it, especially when someone was reciting it. In fact, he loved to listen to people, music or simply anything. It always soothed him to have something so immaterial to hold into.</p><p>“Really?” Merlin stared at him, tilting his head slightly on the side. This smile was not like the others. It was discreet, yet blinding. Arthur felt like he had offered the moon to the young man, and he could not help but acquiesce, blushing softly. Merlin grabbed a stool buried under a pile of magazines and sat next to the sofa, crossed his arms on Gwen’s thigh and dropped his head on it. </p><p>“The clear weather of juniper darkened into water. She fed gin to sloes and sealed the glass container.” Merlin’s eyes were locked on the table. “When I unscrewed it, I smelled the disturbed tart stillness of a bush rising through the pantry.” He took a deep breath, and he looked as if he was lost in his little world, lulling himself with his own voice. Arthur could not take his eyes out of him. “When I poured it, it had a cutting edge and flamed like Betelgeuse.” Merlin blinked and when he reopened his eyes, he was looking directly at Arthur. Gwen's hand was slowly stroking the dark hair of the man resting on her leg. “I drink to you in smoke-mirled, blue-black sloes, bitter and dependable.*”</p><p>No-one moved. Lance was looking at his girlfriend who silently mouthed “I don’t know". Gwaine and Morgana had both leaned forward, staring at the two men. It was as if time itself had stop for them. Merlin frowned slightly, scanning Arthur’s face meticulously. Arthur was mesmerized my the young man's eyes. Both of them smiled at the same time, almost like their non-existing conversation had ended on common ground. Like a crazy cat, Merlin jumped on his feet and grabbed Arthur’s wrist, pulling him out of the sofa. </p><p>“Wha-"</p><p>“Shhhh.” Merlin dragged him to his book display and sat down. He lifted his chin to look up at Arthur who was standing, intrigued. The blond chuckled and ran his hand through his now dry hair. </p><p>“Do you know what is so great about books?” </p><p>“No. No I don’t.” Arthur replied, eyeing the outrageous number of books around them. </p><p>“Me neither.” Merlin’s grin was still there, like a fixed feature. And Arthur was convinced the world would collapsed if that man ever stopped smiling. The dark haired man turned the pages from one of the book and let his finger trail down the pages. “The colour of truth is grey, Gide tells us right?” He moved on to an other book, turning pages as if his life depended on it. His nail tapped two times on some of the printed words. “When I fall in love it will be forever. Jane Austen.” Under Arthur's hooked gaze, Merlin carried on his search. “What can be explained is not poetry. Yeats' words.” Merlin was about to reach for a fourth book but stopped when Arthur decided to sit on the floor in front of him. </p><p>“You're actually listening.” It was a statement. But his voice was surprised, and he closed one of the book to prove he was being serious all of a sudden. </p><p>“I am yes. I don’t know what your point is, but I am listening.” Arthur was not lying. He found himself hanging at every words coming out of Merlin’s mouth. Sitting there with the young man, he had forgotten every thing : the rain, where he was going, which day of the week it was. It was just Merlin. </p><p>“I don’t know what my point is either.” And it was Arthur's turn to laugh. And Merlin chimed in happily. But the dark haired man abruptly stopped and looked mortified. </p><p>“You're okay?” The blond asked, concerned. </p><p>Merlin buried his face in his hands for a second and looked backed up. He bit his bottom lip, uncomfortable. </p><p>“I never asked your name. I’m sorry.” Merlin genuinely looked upset. </p><p>“Arthur. My name's Arthur.” The blond could not look at Merlin, unable to handle the view of the young man being pained. Instead, he found himself trying to read one of the book upside down. </p><p>“Arthur. I like it.” And those three little words made Arthur's happy. “Come!” And once again, Merlin was up on his feet, tapping the blond on the shoulder to make him follow him. And Arthur did. Helping himself by planting his palm on the creaking floorboards, he lifted his body and shadowed the young man. They passed the bathroom to be face to face with an other door, which looked like an actual door. </p><p>Merlin opened it and invited Arthur inside. The small crooked room had no window and its only source of light was a lightbulb hanging from the ceiling that flickered a few times before staying on. On a metal desk, a beach made of pages, pencils shavings and erasers residue acted like a piece of Art that only its owner could understand. The wallpaper was falling from some corners, some paint chips from the ceiling were now on the floor and a humidity stain could be seen climbing the wall. But for some reason, the whole room felt cosy to Arthur.  </p><p>Merlin moved around the desk and picked up a page without really looking, and handed to the blond. He was balancing himself in his feet, his fingers playing with the rim of his t-shirt. </p><p>“As she fell on her knees, she felt the dew running through the fabric of her skirt, and she knew the Earth was crying with her.” Arthur read out loud, and stared at Merlin who was shuffling his hair. The young man took the page back to replace it with a new one. “You'll be the ruin of me ; but what a sublime ruination.”</p><p>“When did you become so romantic?” Merlin cut him, and Arthur realised this was the next line. So he carried on, reading out loud. </p><p>“When writing our tragedy became too much**.” Arthur let the page fall back on the desk. “What is this Merlin?” </p><p>“This is all and nothing Arthur. Bribes of stories, my stories, that will never see the light. This are just single sentences, small paragraphs, with which I can create the most amazing adventures when I want to. Maybe she fell on her knees because she lost her cat, maybe because her brother killed a man. I don’t know, she doesn’t know, and isn’t it exciting?” Merlin was talking so quick that Arthur was struggling to catch everything. And yet, he listened. He listened to this passionate young man talk about five different stories for the girl who fell on her knees, about the same amount about what tragedy has those men went through, and about a dozens more stories that had no start and no endings. He felt like he was getting drunk on Merlin's voice, and he wished it would never stop. The bookshop owner was clearly getting out of breath and yet, yet his smile was still on. His fingers were twisting each others and his toes were curling and uncurling and it was the most endearing thing the blond had ever seen. </p><p>After taking a long breath, it seemed like Merlin became self aware and covered his mouth with his hand as if he had just cursed like a sailor. He shook his head and grabbed a pencil to occupy his fingers. </p><p>“I’m shutting up. Sorry.” Merlin’s cheek were pink and his knuckles were white. His blue eyes were directed to the floor, almost hidden by his black hair. His grey t-shirt was wrinkled where it had previously been tortured. And to Arthur, the young man looked like a palette meant to paint life.</p><p>“Please, never shut up.” Arthur has spoken almost inaudibly. He directed his gaze to the desk, unable to hold Merlin's stare. The young man dropped the pencil and walked back next to the blond, interlacing his fingers in the cotton of Arthur's borrowed top. He was slightly taller, but the blond felt like Merlin was the smallest thing he had ever seen. </p><p>“I think I want to shut up.” Carefully, Merlin placed a chaste kiss on Arthur's lips, a quick brush, almost a dream-induced touch. </p><p>It’s only a knock on the door that brought them back in time. </p><p>“Merlin! Got a customer!” Gwaine's voice resonated through the door. </p><p>“Give me just a second!” The owner shouted back, his eyes never once leaving the blond. He finally let go of the t-shirt and held his hand over the door handle, not wanting to ever leave this room.  </p><p>“I should go. It sounds like the rain has stopped.” While his words were saying one thing, his body was saying an other, staying there, standing, not moving. </p><p>“Will you come back?” The door was now ajar, crying at every inch it was being dragged along. For sole answer, Arthur placed his hand on top of Merlin's, and kissed him again as a promise. He opened the door and left, his still humid overcoat on his shoulders, his wet clothes in his arms, his squeaking drenched shoes at his feet. </p><p>On the pavement, he looked back at the small wooden door. He stared at the iron curtain which was down, rain from the storm still running down on it. And just above, in a shaky handwriting, two words : La Bohème. </p><p>He had to go home, but he was suddenly unsure of where that was. Someone bumped into him, and he started to walk away, remembering his daily job, his London flat, his ruined leather shoes and how cold it was. Yet, he smiled. And never stopped. </p>
<hr/><p>It was July 1982, at La Bohème, somewhere in London. Madness was having fun in a house, whilst the provisional IRA detonated two bombs in London, killing eight people and seven horses. Michael Fagon passed through the security and intruded Elisabeth II's bedroom. The longest lunar eclipse of the 20th century had just passed. The sun was bathing the city, caressing every body’s faces. On a small worn out sofa, young people were laughing. </p><p>“Elton John is queer?” Arthur looked around the room as six pairs of eyes stared at him in disbelief. </p><p>“You know the singer of Styx is also a lesbian?” Gwaine enquired. </p><p>“Who?” Arthur was utterly confused. </p><p>“You actually singed along to Styx yesterday!” Morgana joined in, looking up from her book. </p><p>“I did not know about Elton either...” Percy spoke in a low voice, looking over at Gwaine. </p><p>“But you're excused big man.” The long haired man grabbed Percy's collar and pulled him into a kiss. </p><p>“Do I get a pass as well?” The blond turned to Merlin who was sitting on the floor, hugging Arthu’s leg whilst reading a book. The blond had his hand stroking his hair slowly, which always seemed to relax Merlin.</p><p>“Nope.” He smacked his lips together as he turned a page. </p><p>So Arthur abandoned Merlin's hair and grabbed his cup of coffee, before joining in a conversation between Gwen and Lance about a movie named Tron which came out the previous week. It took only a minute before Merlin gave in and tapped Arthur on the arm to give him a kiss. It was only then than Arthur put his hand back on the young man's head.</p><p>He just loved these moments where they all stayed down at the book shop. Arthur was at La Bohème every time he was not at work – which was just a boring office job that not even him could accurately describe without falling asleep – and left the place just to go to bed. Although, he and Merlin had spend few nights on the floor of this alien-like shop, when Morpheus caught them by surprise. <br/>
The first time it had happened, it was their actual first time as well. Merlin had closed for the day and Arthur had stayed behind to help him with the dishes. It had been less than a week since Arthur had walked in like a scared wet puppy. The next day, he was already back. But that evening, some time in the week that followed, as their hands were deep in soapy water and the bookshop was quiet, it was when Arthur knew. He knew he wanted only one thing and it was to have this mad and passionate gangly man by his side. At that moment, he must have looked completely lost in thoughts, for even Merlin had realised.</p><p>“What are you thinking about?” Merlin had asked him, elbow resting on the side of the sink. </p><p>“About how much I want-" and Arthur had never had the chance to finish his sentence. Merlin had pushed him against the wall, his wet hands running through Arthur's hair, their lips dancing with each other. When Merlin had broken apart for just a second, waiting to see if this was okay, Arthur could only do one thing. </p><p>“I only want you.” He had finished his sentence, breathless for he had not dared to dream about that moment. But Merlin's embrace felt like home, felt like he belonged, right there, right in that moment. As their lips had met again, Arthur had cried. From this painfully raw reality that he could leave everything for this man. He could just run away, taking Merlin with him. Eating once every two days, spending sleepless nights babbling about nothing, dancing barefoot in the garden at midnight, their own love being the only wealth they would have, and the only wealth they needed. <br/>
And so, Arthur had cried, his lips shyly reciprocating the kiss, afraid to hurt the most precious gift the stars had given him. </p><p>And when Merlin had felt the tears, he had stepped back, wiping them away with his thumb. </p><p>“Why are you sad?” The young man had asked, watching one tear roll down the blond's face to die on the fabric of his t-shirt. Arthur had burst into a silent laugh and had taken a deep inhale, glancing hesitantly at the dark haired man. </p><p>“I'm not sad. I’m happier than I’ve ever been.” And he had pulled Merlin back into his arms. They had stumbled towards the sitting area, refusing to let the other one for even just a split moment. Merlin had pushed Arthur on the sofa and straddled him, staring at him with all the tenderness in the world. </p><p>“Arthur.” He had caressed the blond hair and had kissed every inch of Arthur's skin. Slowly, they had lifted their t-shirts. Every movement had been like stuck in time, dragging the moment so it would never end. </p><p>Arthur had drawn phantasmagorias from the tip of his fingers on Merlin's skin, a virgin canvas on which he could give life to abstract forms, aborted poems and unfinished stories. He had lost himself on the lines of his chest, the curve of his hips, the shadow from the delicate dark hairs. </p><p>Carefully, Merlin had stolen Arthur's lips once more, his own hands anchoring themselves on the tanned skin to not drift away, to not disappear at sea, made of dreams and silent melodies. </p><p>“The curves of your lips rewrite History***.” Merlin had breathed out. </p><p>“The colour of your eyes rewrites Art.” Arthur had whispered. </p><p>On that evening, they had loved each other's, out of time. The walls of Jericho had trembled, the Saints had cried, their bodies had died as their soul replaced them. The earth had stopped turning.</p><p> Outside of La Bohème, someone had hailed a cab, an old lady had walked her dog, two young lovers had walked arm in arm. </p><p>“Arthur?” The blond turned to Gwen, not knowing what the conversation was about anymore. </p><p>“Sorry, come again?” </p><p>“How’s your job going?” Gwen enquired again. </p><p>“Same as usual. My father is being a nightmare, we got three big contracts coming in next week.” Arthur hated to talk about his job. Mostly due to the fact that it was a constant reminder that he had not yet talk to his father about his relationship. That he had to keep Merlin a secret. That he could not shout to the world his love for this man, without risking to lose everything. But as the months had gone by, as Merlin's smile was part of him, as La Bohème had become his home, he could not help but think that losing everything was nothing if it meant he could stay there forever. </p><p>“Quit it.” Morgana smirked as she spoke. It was well known that she had a deep hatred for big corporation and anything related to it. Although, it was still a mystery to the group of friends as to how she was making money. The few times they asked, she had simply said : “I make the rich beg to pay me.” As to what it meant, Gwaine liked to believe she was a dominatrix. Merlin would rather imagine her as a modern Robin Hood. The others decided it was better to never ask. </p><p>Merlin let go of Arthur’s leg and stumbled to the small bar he considered to be the café area and made himself a new cup. </p><p>“You are gonna overdose on caffeine one day.” Arthur said jokingly, his eyes looking at the young man as if it was the first he'd saw him. </p><p>“Nah, been there. Caffeine won’t be the death of me.” Merlin replied. He always had this habit of being cryptic, as if he talked in a constant internal conversation with himself. Sometimes, he would let people in his world, sometimes he would not. It was as if his own mind was a being on itself, living its own life as it pleased, and Arthur wished the young man would never lose that.</p><p>Over the months, Arthur had come to know a lot about Merlin. He knew he was twenty-two years old – three years younger than him, he knew his mother was Welsh and his father Irish. Northern Ireland specifically. He knew that Merlin had the most chaotic sleeping schedule known to humans, that he could speak for hours to say nothing and say everything in one sentence. That he was vegetarian but also lactose intolerant, and could survive on bread alone, just because he loved it. He knew that he did those things with his fingers when he was happy, stressed or bored, and Arthur found it comforting. He knew that Merlin was deeply afraid of strong smells and it had happened that the young man locked himself in his small room waiting for whatever fragrance was coming into the shop to pass. He knew his favourite colour was lilac. </p><p>But he had no clue what was really going on in his mind. No one did. And Arthur understood why Merlin had created La Bohème, a place where he could be himself, and people loved him for it. “Queer and mad" was how Merlin jokingly described himself one day, and it made the blond laugh, before pulling the young man in a tight embrace. </p><p>“If you are queer and mad, what does that make me?” The blond had Merlin on his lap, his head resting on his chest. </p><p>“Queer and mad. But the posh version.” The young man had beamed, his eyes half closed and his nose proudly sticking up in a bad imitation of Arthur. </p><p>“That’s where you’re wrong. I am queer and mad for you.” </p><p>But what made La Bohème so perfect to the group of friends, was that they all had been welcomed. Lance and Gwen who were about to celebrated their three years together, both openly bisexuals, had been received by Merlin with open armed. The couple had made a point to never get married, despite the other's blessings. </p><p>“Why would we get married if we would not have been able to if Lance and I had found other people?” Gwen had put an end to the discussion. </p><p>As for Gwaine, he just felt good there. He had never been attracted to the London gay scene, glitters and rainbow not being his jam. He was all leather, long hair and stubble, in love with his Harley, and happened to love cock. And there, he could polish his bike in front of the bookshop, come in for a cup of coffee, and that was that. And ever since he had met Percy, a sweetheart trapped in the body of a giant, La Bohème had become their own little love nest, and they would never change a thing. </p><p>Morgana was simply just not interested in any relationship, physical or platonic. It was bringing down Thatcher that turned her on and nothing else. And in her life, she had struggled to find a place where she was considered normal, and not broken. But Merlin had simply told her “I got some Marx’s book and thesis in the back, and fresh coffee if you need” and she had never left the bookshop after that. For the first time in her life, she belonged.  </p><p>And Arthur, just like the rest, had been welcomed with a bright smile. </p><p>Hanging around on the floor was a glass jar, where they all dropped some notes weekly. It was the only thing Merlin ever asked : a fiver time to time to pay the bills. But he always collected more than a few pounds and usually spent the extra in food once a month, and they would all sit around, some on the sofa, some on the floor or a pile of books, and they would spent the evening drinking and eating and being happy. </p><p>“I can’t anymore guys, I’m gonna fix that bloody bathroom door!” Arthur slapped his hands on his knees before standing up. He had not worn one of his expensive suit in ages, apart at the office. He had fully embraced the cotton t-shirt and blue jeans, and wished he had discovered those earlier in his life. He also learnt later that no one had ever forgotten their trousers, it had been Merlin's spare clothes. </p><p>Merlin put down his cup of coffee on a random book shelf and blocked him. </p><p>“Don’t you dare. I'll die before this plank of wood gets replaced.”</p><p>“Then can one of you tell me how the hell you’re putting it back in its hinges? Cause it’s been months and I just can’t do it.” He looked at them all, who were chuckling under their breath. </p><p>“The door doesn’t like you. If you’d stop swearing at it, it might be more compliant.” Merlin shrugged, and walked to the piece of wood, apologising on Arthur's behalf for his behaviour. </p><p>“Fine, door, I'm sorry! Happy now?” Arthur shouted from the sofa he had sat back in. “Stop looking so smug Gwaine, you’re talking to your bike, and don’t believe we can’t hear you!” </p><p>“Oh Tempest, you're thirsty isn’t it?” Lance said, imitating Gwaine's voice. </p><p>“Oh no Tempest, it looks like it’s gonna rain! Let me grab your coat!” Gwen chimed in, her hand testing on Lance's shoulder.</p><p>“Why are you grumpy today Tempest? Need to go for ride eh?” Arthur continued, elbowing the man in his ribs. </p><p>“Oi! Tempest is as much part of La Bohème than you lot! I won’t have you disrespect her!” Merlin came back, falsely scolding the group. </p><p>“Thank you Merlin!” Gwaine looked out of the bay window, from which the metal curtain was lifted that day. “Don’t listen to them my dear. You're perfect.” He placed his hand on his heart and looked fondly at his Harley. </p><p>“I've come to term with it. Tempest is his first love.” Percy stated, chuckling before giving a death glare the bike. </p><p>“Yet, I still get to ride you both.” The long haired man nonchalantly rolled a cigarette and lighted it on, refusing to acknowledge the looks of his friends. </p><p>“No. No. He has a point.” Percy cackled, shuffling Gwaine's hair. </p><p>They spent the rest of the day talking about some obscure poetry, loudly arguing about Thatcher despite all having the same opinion, drinking too much coffee, and just living, allowing themselves to forget about the world surrounding them. </p>
<hr/><p>It was January 1983, somewhere in Wales, a place no one could pinpoint on a map, a place where its inhabitant could not care less about maps anyway. Phil Collins was letting you know that you can not hurry love. On this new year, red rain fell on the country, a little part of the world traveling within the tears of the sky. Morning were made of cuddles before the fireplace, a newspaper was being read over, even if truly: it was there only to feed the fire. The trees were dancing along the wind, in a ballet only a few got to witness. Afternoons were filled with freezing cold walks on the coast, nose nestled in a hand knitted scarf which its ugliness only equaled the love that had been poured in its making. Evening were busied by nothingness, a game of card, liquors in tea-cups and the purr of the radio, until the night would claim everybody to start it all over again. </p><p>The small cottage was homey, and Arthur could not ever see himself going back to London, not yet. It was the first time in almost a year that he had spend so much time outside of La Bohème with Merlin, and he could not get enough of it. The young man, who was in fact living in the bookshop and had refused to move in with Arthur in his flat, was almost never leaving the place. </p><p>“What's in the outside world that I can not get from books?” Merlin had asked one day. “This is my world, and I don’t need anything else.” </p><p>And Arthur had come to believe that Merlin was not existing outside of La Bohème. When humans needed fresh water and air to survive, Merlin needed his bookshop, blank pages and ink. And so, almost one year in their idyll, this was the first time they had been in “the outside world" like Merlin liked to refer to it, apart from the corner shop attached to the bookshop for late errands.<br/>
And the only person who could drag him out of his paper made house was his mother. </p><p>“Nice to meet you Arthur.” Hunith pulled him in a motherly hug which made the blond swallow a sob. “I hope you are taking great care of my son.” She said as she let him go, fondly looking over Merlin who was already browsing over his mother's small book display. </p><p>“Believe me when I say I could not bear it if some harm were coming his way.” He could not look at her as he spoke, feeling like his words were inappropriate. Because a mother could understand this feeling, and he did not wish to undermine the love she had for her son. Instead, he watched Merlin’s long fingers already turning pages. </p><p>“I can see that.” Hunith said, looking at Merlin as well, who had turned on himself  to cross his legs and sit down right in the middle of the living room. </p><p>“Has he always been passionate about books?” Arthur wondered out loud. He could not imagine a time where Merlin did not know how to read or write, and the sole idea made his head go dizzy.</p><p>“Yes. As far as I can remember. Even if as a kid, he would not understand the meaning, he just loved the aesthetic of the words, the melody of them. Sometime I think he sees something we don’t.” </p><p>Arthur nodded along, understanding the feeling. He remembered the time Merlin was face buried deep in a book that he had picked up with his eyes closed and opened at the last page. He had stopped and rushed to the sofa where Arthur was sitting. Merlin had flung himself at his side, stretching his legs on the blond’s lap. </p><p>“Callipygian.” </p><p><br/>
“Mmh?” </p><p><br/>
“Callipygian! Isn’t it wonderful? It is such a round and fluid word! And it looks so balanced. It is as beautiful as it’s meaning!” </p><p><br/>
“And what does it mean?”</p><p><br/>
“It’s to have well-shaped buttocks.”<br/>
Merlin had been contemplative, murmuring the word on and on to himself. “I love it.” And as quick as he had arrived, he was gone again.  </p><p>And Arthur loved those random babbling that Merlin made. Sometimes it was completely silly. </p><p>“Arthur? Do you think someone in the world is having the same conversation as we are now?” </p><p><br/>
“What conversation?”</p><p><br/>
“This one. Wondering if someone in the world is currently wondering if someone else in the world is wondering the same thing.”</p><p> <br/>
“In English or in any language?” </p><p><br/>
“I guess I could do with French.” </p><p><br/>
“Why just French?” </p><p><br/>
“Cause the French are more likely to have this conversation.”</p><p><br/>
“Are they?”</p><p><br/>
“They gave birth to Baudelaire so I would believe so?”</p><p><br/>
“What’s the correlation?”</p><p><br/>
“I don’t know. But there must be one. I’ll go and check Les Fleurs du Mal.” </p><p>And sometimes, Merlin was leaving Arthur completely stunned. </p><p>“Why does true love always gets a tragic ending Arthur?”</p><p><br/>
“Because if not, love itself would run its course anyway.” </p><p><br/>
“Exactly. Which is equally tragic. The only thing you can do is keep a blind eye on the matter, convincing yourself that you are the exception, despite knowing that one day, we will either break up or one of us will die. There’s no escaping the tragedy of love. More coffee?”</p><p>As the evening was coming closer, Hunith set up the table, the burning wood cracking behind them being the only melody they needed. They were spending a week with her, and everyday was like wool warming Arthur's soul. He never knew anything outside of London, and he was convinced that Merlin’s mother's cottage was the future he and Merlin would one day reach. </p><p>On that week, they got to dance barefoot in the garden, the stars watching upon them. Merlin had perked his mom’s radio on a century old tree stump, and had pulled Arthur in a waltz. None of them actually knew how to dance, but it didn’t matter. As Otis was singing the blues, they moved along with the Earth. It was cold, it was humid, their toes had turned white, their bodies were shivering, but they laughed and smiled for their had the other to keep them alive no matter what. </p><p>From the kitchen window, Hunith was watching them, a cup of tea warming her hands. She was glad to have lived long enough to witness her son living through the euphoria of love she had once knew. She looked over at the black and white portrait of Balinor hanging on the wall, specifically placed there so even in death, he could look upon the garden he had so deeply cherished. She saw herself dancing with him where the two young men were standing, as carefree as they were now. She smiled. </p><p>Two cups of hot chocolate were waiting for them on the kitchen table. </p>
<hr/><p>It was May 1983, somewhere in London, in an ostentatious flat which could make Buckingham Palace ashamed of its feature. Spandau Ballet wanted the truth to be known. Margaret Thatcher called a general election. The opinion polls show her on course of victory. It was warm for the season, and the Manchester United supporters celebrated their victory against Brighton &amp; Hove Albion. </p><p>Merlin and Arthur were anxiously waiting by a door as they knocked. </p><p>“It will be fine.” The young man said, not believing a word himself. </p><p>“It will. If this is the end, then so be it.” The blond replied, before sharing a kiss, the unspoken promise that it will be fine indeed, no matter the outcome. </p><p>The door opened to let appear an austere man and an equally shabby looking woman. </p><p>“Father. Catrina.” Arthur acknowledged them solemnly and Merlin thought that even the Queen herself might not receive such a cold and formal salute from her children. </p><p>“And this is?” Catrina said, gauging the author from head to toe and not trying to hide her disdain. </p><p>“I am Merlin.” His mouth started to curl up into a smile but under Uther's icy gaze, he abruptly refrain himself and looked at the wall instead. </p><p>“Well Arthur, please come in. Your colleague is more than welcome.” </p><p>Merlin pinched Arthur's arms to keep him quiet, and the blond looked back confusedly at the young man.</p><p>Merlin was not known to stay quiet, and even less to keep others quiet. In fact, he had tendency to not know when silence was the most golden. So he obliged, and they walked into the flat, an untold truth hovering between them all. </p><p>Sitting at the dining table, no words apart from empty politeness were exchanged. </p><p>Merlin had looked everywhere but his own plate, playing with his fork mindlessly. </p><p>“Father, I did say he was not eating meat.” Arthur had finally broke the silence, keeping his tone cordial and polite.</p><p>“Well, it’s dead and already on his plate. Dig in Merlin.” Uther  practically spat, not even bothering to look up at his guest. And once again, the young man had calmed down Arthur by placing his hand on his thigh. </p><p>And that’s when Arthur knew. He knew that he had already mourned the loss of his father in his life. He had decided it was over and the silver from the cutlery felt like a mocking weight remembering him what his father was, had been but won’t anymore. He looked over at Merlin, almost as if to tell him it was alright, that it had to be done. The young man had only nodded, not without a small smile and the blond understood that Merlin was not yet sure about it. </p><p>It was the thing. Merlin had lost his own father at a young age and he was willing to give Uther a chance to prove himself as one. </p><p>“I don’t remember hiring someone called Merlin. Are you new?” Uther asked, gauging Merlin as to tell him to be careful with his answer. </p><p>“I am not Arthur's colleague sir.” His voice was calm and ready to have this discussion. Whilst Arthur was resigned, Merlin still had hoped. </p><p>“Then why did you bring this Nancy boy Arthur?” The old man knew the answer, but he’d rather have his son lie to his face than hear it. </p><p>But instead, Arthur leaned back in his chair, dropping his cutlery in his plate loudly. He was done. He had grown up with his father being clear about his beliefs and disgust for homosexuals and his father was still living beyond his expectation. And to Merlin, it was the ultimate proof that this would not work. </p><p>“This Nancy boy,” Merlin started, “ is indeed sucking your son’s cock every other night, or he does me. Really depends on the mood. In fact, I love cocks so much, I’m like a cock rack, a sperm bin, and I can never have enough. I’ll chocked down any cocks that is put in front of me : small, big  thick or not. Can’t help it. I see a cock, I open my legs and my mouth. Two cocks, even better. Three? Heaven. Two in the back, one in front. Great ride.” Merlin bit into a piece of bread and smirked at Uther, who was silently fuming. “Ah. Cocks.” The young man finished, resting his head on the back of his head, dreamily.</p><p>Arthur was biting his thumbs to not laugh at his father’s face. Merlin was always polite and well-behaved and to have him declaimed an ode to male genitalia was almost horrifying but terribly hilarious. </p><p>“Get out.” Uther stated, coldly. </p><p>And for the first time that evening, Merlin smiled from this special smile of his. He grabbed Uther's hand after standing and shook it fiercely. </p><p>“Thank you for this evening. I hope to never see you again.” And Merlin grabbed his jacket, truly happy. </p><p>Arthur was already up and dressed, his heart suddenly light. It was like he had finally got ridden of a necklace made of iron meant to sink him at the bottom of the ocean that was his father’s ideologies. </p><p>“Not you Arthur. Only the faggot leaves.” </p><p>The blond laughed, stunned. </p><p>“Oh Uther. It takes two to be faggots.” The blond smirked as he called the man who gave him life by his name. </p><p>“If you leave, I’ll disown you. You can say farewell to your flat, your allowance and your job.” As Uther spoke, Catrina only stared at the young men, disgusted. </p><p>“You're so predictable. It’s sad really.” Arthur punctuated his words by throwing his house keys and chequebook on the table. “I've resigned this morning, all the paperwork is already done.” </p><p>“Arthur!” But the door was already closing behind the two men. And they laughed, from the bottom of their heart. Laughing was better than crying. </p><p>“A...cock rack?” Arthur succeeded to articulate, with great difficulty. </p><p>“It’s poetry alright?” Merlin wheezed as they walk down the stairs  arm in arm. </p><p>They laughed, instead of crying indeed, for La Bohème was now their home. It had been for more than a year. That day, at Uther's flat, was just a formality. Arthur had not stepped in his flat for months anyway. And who needs money when you have bread and roses. </p>
<hr/><p>It was October 1983, at La Bohème, somewhere in London. Culture Club's dreams were red, gold and green and it would have been easier if loving was along those colours. Over a million people demonstrated at a campaign for nuclear disarmament march. Denis Nelson stood trial, accused of six murders : he confessed fifteen. Almost two years prior, a man died in Brompton Hospital. Less than a year later, so did Terry Higgins. They spoke of a new illness. </p><p>The group was sitting around, chatting and reading. </p><p>“Are you still sleeping on the floor?” Percy asked Arthur as the blond stretched, whining softly as he did. </p><p>“Oh no. We’ve move the desk from the back and put a mattress there.” He replied, massaging his shoulder. </p><p>“Then what happened?” The tall man sounded genuinely concerned now. Gwen had moved over to have a look at Arthur’s back. Merlin pretended to not hear anything. </p><p>“You mean ‘who' happened? Care to explain Merlin?” The blond laughed, melting under Gwen's finger as she massaged the bruised skin. </p><p>“Alas, I am still grieving. I will not go over this tragedy. Please respect my loss.” He turned a new page, and brushed away a non-existing tear from his eyes. </p><p>Morgana looked panic, and Lance turned back to Arthur, ready to stand up to comfort the owner. </p><p>“Relax everybody. No one is dead.” </p><p>“Not to you Arthur!” Merlin howled, looking distressed. </p><p>“Come here.” The blond said, understanding as he opened his arm. Merlin jumped on his lap and nestled his nose in Arthur’s neck. “Better?” He asked, stroking lovingly Merlin's hair. He hummed faintly and tighten his embrace around Arthur body, who winced slightly. </p><p>“So, what happened?” Percy repeated himself and everybody acquiesced. </p><p>“I was laying in bed, wondering what was that scratching noise. I thought it was a rat or something so naturally, I came out of the room to check and I found Merlin curled up on the floor, carving something on the bottom of the door.”</p><p>“In my defence, you were not supposed to see it yet. You took me by surprised and I was not mentally prepared.” Merlin mumbled. </p><p>“So I read it.” He placed a kiss on Merlin's forehead. “Can I say it?” He softly asked. </p><p>“Don’t leave me. I wrote ‘Don’t leave me’.” The author's murmured. </p><p>“And I said I would never.” The blond finished, his voice softening even more. </p><p>“It's adorable, I’ll admit, but how does that explain the state of your back?” Morgana raised an eyebrow. </p><p>“Well...” Arthur chuckled. “Merlin stood up and slammed me against the door to kiss me.” </p><p>“Who knew you were that strong Merlin?” Lancelot replied, laughing slightly. </p><p>“The bathroom door.” Merlin cried out, hiding his face in Arthur's t-shirt. There was two seconds of silence before the whole group of friends exploded in a round of loud laughter. </p><p>“Yup. The door failed under our weights.” </p><p>“It was a great door Arthur! I miss it.” </p><p>“But now, I got a valid reason to replace it.” Arthur pointed out, but he was still comforting the young man, who happened to be quite upset about it. </p><p>Just after the door incident had occurred , Arthur had actually offered to keep the broken wood and nail it on the wall of their room. Within the hour, it had been proudly standing over their mattress, its greenish and bluish paint remains scrambling down on them. Arthur had woken up with his whole body itchy, as the former door had seemed to only target him, leaving Merlin paint-free.</p><p>“I'm telling you Merlin, this piece of wood is holding some grudges against me!” he had whined, picking up some small paint chip from his blond hair. </p><p>“You crucified it. I would expect it to hate you.” Merlin had contemplated the wall as he spoke, slowing running his fingers along the piece. </p><p>“Don’t tell me this dead wood is a martyr now?” </p><p>“Would Jesus be a martyr without the cross?” </p><p>“I... what?” </p><p>“My piece of wood is the second half of any martyr in the world. The irony is, it was not supposed to be crucified but to crucify. It had a taste of its own medicine yesterday and it did not like it. It bled on you, receptacle of its sin. You are the Holy Grail Arthur.”</p><p>“So I just killed a piece of wood  which was a messiah, and it turned me into a sacred goblet?” </p><p>“Yup. Coffee?”</p><p>“Please. A lot.” </p><p>Percy and Arthur went out not long after, leaving Merlin in Gwen's care. The blond was glad to have the giant with him to carry the new door around, especially as none of them owned a car, and they could not afford to rent a van. But even small things like this did not bother Arthur since he had been disowned. Eating cold baked beans from the can or  digging through the sofa for five extra pennies was nothing if it meant he could fall asleep next to Merlin every night. And he had no desire to cover his lover in gold and silver from head to toe, as Merlin could not care less about it. He had however used some of his spare money left in his wallet to buy him three extra notebooks and Merlin had not shut up about it for a week. </p><p>“What the-" Arthur had said as he had stretched his arm under Merlin’s pillow to cuddle him. “Are you sleeping with the notebooks?” </p><p>“Yup.” </p><p>“Any reason why?” </p><p>“Cause you got them for me. And I will keep them next to me forever.” </p><p>“Even when the pages will be filled up?”</p><p>“Especially when the pages will be filled up.”</p><p>As Arthur and Percy left La Bohème, Merlin dropped his head on Morgana's lap. Gwen and Lance were talking about some trivial things, such as whether or not they should move the disposition of their bedroom to be closer to the heater, as winter was just around the corner. </p><p>However, the quiet and calm atmosphere of the book shop got shattered by Gwaine's Harley screeching on the pavement. He stormed in, still fully dressed in his motorcycle outfit and a massive bag on his shoulders. </p><p>“Where’s Percy?” He asked hastily, looking around. </p><p>“He's out with Arthur. They should be back in an hour.” Morgana informed him, her voice full of unspoken questions. </p><p>“I don’t have an hour.” Gwaine was grave, his usual nonchalant demeanour replaced by something darker, something so serious that he looked like a different man. </p><p>Merlin sat back up on the sofa and tilted his head, his eyes going from Gwaine, to the bag, to Tempest before coming back on Gwaine. </p><p>“No.” The young man whispered. “You can’t leave.”</p><p>At those words, Lance strolled to Gwaine and pulled him in a hug. The long haired man reciprocated the embrace, holding back his tears. </p><p>“You've been diagnosed.” Lancelot stated under his breath so only Gwaine could hear him. The biker broke the embrace and held Lance at arm length, giving him a bright smile which was painfully empty. His eyes had lost their characteristic cheeky glare, shining only from aborted tears. </p><p>“I’m going to America.” He spoke loud enough for everybody to hear. “Tempest and I have one more road to ride along before the end.” He walked to Gwen and hugged her tightly, before pointing to her heart. “Never lose this Gwen. You would be such a great mother. You were a great mother to me. To all of us.” He then turned to Morgana who stood there, her face expressionless. Only her trembling bottom lip and excessive swallowing betrayed her state. “I can’t leave without knowing. Are you a dominatrix?” He gave her a knowing smirk and she punched his shoulder. </p><p>“Shut up.” She almost cried. Hesitant at first, she ended up dragging him and squeezing him in her arms. His eyes were burning as he tried to took a deep breath to contain himself. He failed when he felt Morgana sobbing faintly.</p><p>“I’m not dead yet eh? No one is to cry over my alive body. Got it?” He stepped away and she let herself fall on the sofa. She shut down, her nails digging in her thigh, biting the inside of her cheeks. She refused to see Gwaine's tears. Not if it meant it was the last she would ever see of him. He did the same. </p><p>He inhaled deeply, giggling softly as the air left his lungs once again. </p><p>“Did you speak with all your partners?” Lance enquired. He had followed Gwaine in every steps the last two months, up to the clinic to be talk with professionals. He had had the chance to get used of the idea and as Gwaine confirmed his diagnosis, Lance had already prepared himself for the news. This new plague, which would come to be known by an other name, had already forced too many people to face grieve, and they were just a banal story within dozens of others.</p><p>“Well..” Gwaine passed his hand through his hair, his nonchalance slowly coming back. “I’ve contacted about fourty of them. At least the ones I knew how to contact. As for the others, I sent a letter to the clubs I knew I had frequented to advice them to offer documentation and clinics addresses to their clientele. Shade some light on the matter you know.” He turned around, heavy hearted. Merlin had already left the room, quietly. He had locked himself up in his room. “I should talk to him.” Gwaine sighed. Saying goodbye was one thing, saying goodbye to Merlin was an other. The two men had been to hell and back together. They had buried a friend together. They had sobered up together after Mordred had overdosed in that back street. They had known each other's for a few years, but it felt like a lifetime. And he knew that even if he had made peace with his own death sentence, Merlin could not. But it was not what made his heart heavy as he walked towards the wooden door. LAV, as the doctors called it, was a poisonous gift, as you gave it in a moment of bliss, only to seal the faith of your partner. And Gwaine could not bear the idea to be the one condemning Merlin. </p><p>He let himself slid down against the wooden door, his eyes caught by the small new engraving. ‘Don’t leave me’. ‘<em>Don’t leave us</em>.’ Gwaine thought, as he rested his head against it. </p><p>“Merlin.” His voice cracked. He heard some shuffling on the other side. “Open the door please.” He begged, his fingers toying with a shard coming out, something to ground himself in reality. </p><p>“No.” </p><p>“I'll miss you Merlin.” He openly cried now,  his eyes closed, his chest painfully tight. </p><p>“You can’t.</p><p>“I don’t have a choice.” </p><p>“Gwaine?” </p><p>“Yes?” </p><p>But Merlin never replied. Instead, Gwaine heard him moving around the room frenetically. Inbetween the cacophony of fallen object, ruffled papers and sobs, he found himself looking around La Bohème. That place that had seen so much. The only thing he could do to thank it was to not make it witness his death. He owed it to La Bohème, to walk out of the door one last time, alive and happy. And if his eyes would be red, his cheeks wet and his throat dry, he would beg the walls to remember it as the result of one last round of laughter, nothing else.</p><p>He felt a piece of paper by his hand and he grabbed it. He felt the door slightly move under Merlin’s weight as the young man sat on the floor as well. Gwaine knew it was the closest physical contact he'll ever get from Merlin, one last ghost touch. </p><p>His eyes trailed over the page, painted with erratic handwriting and fresh tears. </p><p>“I would not wish any companion in the world but you.****” Gwaine read, his voice trembling. He dropped his hand on his side, holding into the paper like a mad man held into reality. This was not about them. It had never been. This was a last homage to Tempest, Gwaine's first love, and maybe only love. The one he chose to die with. </p><p>“I have to go Merlin.” </p><p>“Take good care of her. She deserves an open casket.” And this was why Gwaine could not imagine a world without Merlin in it. It was maybe what had brought him peace, knowing he would be the first one to leave. The privilege of dying first. </p><p>“I will. Tempest loves you, you know.”  </p><p>“And I love her.” </p><p>It was words that spoke of everything but a Harley. </p><p>“Go.” Merlin cried out. Gwaine did not need to see him to know he was twisting his fingers beyond pain, that he was chewing his bottom lip enough to bruise it or that his shoes must have been kicked out. </p><p>Gwaine took off his pocket knife and turned slightly. Opposite Merlin's engraving, he wrote a single word. He stood up and let his palm linger on the door, and he could have swear he had felt Merlin's on the other side. He grabbed his bag and walked back to the entrance.</p><p>With a heavy hand, he dropped a plane ticket on the coffee table. </p><p>“I have more things to take care off. If Percy wants to join me, let him know that I’ll be waiting. Tell Arthur to take care of Merlin.” He glanced around one last time and opened the door, only to poke his head through one last time. “Or mark my words, I’ll crawl back from my grave to kick Blondie's pretty arse.” He broke into a laugh, which the group followed. They laughed as hard as their eyes cried. Tempest purred one last time, echoing through the streets, somewhere in London. The door was standing proud, lighter from the missing wood at its bottom. </p><p><em>Farewell</em>.</p>
<hr/><p>It was March 1984, at La Bohème, somewhere in London. Frankie was relaxing as he went to Hollywood. The miners’ strike had begun, pulling the national Union of Mineworkers against Margaret Thatcher. A murder investigation had been open following the discovery of Hilda Munel's body, a 78 years old rose grower and anti-nuclear activist. The sky was heavy, hanging low on the city, asphyxiating its inhabitant. </p><p>On the sofa, Morgana made annotations in a magazine. Gwen was on Lance's lap, both looking at the lyrics written on the back of a vinyl sleeve they had bought the same morning. Merlin and Arthur were on the floor, reading random lines from books, trying to follow the rhythm that the radio was giving them. </p><p>The right side of the sofa was empty. It had been unspoken, but they all refused to sit where Gwaine used to. His ashtray was still on the table, the smell of cold ash a last reminiscence. Under it, the plane ticket could be seen. Some coffee stains had appeared on it, only sign the months that had passed. </p><p>Percy had refused to go. For love or for pure selfishness. Or for both. He had loved Gwaine with all his heart, and he wanted to keep it that way. He could not see him slowly deteriorating, dying everyday a bit more. He could not witness his eyes turning hopeless. It had not go because he had loved to much. He had not go because he could not have. </p><p>And so, Gwaine's seat was left untouched. Merlin was still making one cup of coffee too many, leaving it to die on the table. None of them had heard anything from the young man. It was almost as if Gwaine had become a living memory, a dead fantasy. </p><p>The soft atmosphere came to an end when the phone placed on the floor behind a bookshel rang.</p><p>“Don’t pick it up.” Merlin said, looking at everybody. </p><p>“Why not?” Lance asked, Gwen already moving slightly so he could stand up. </p><p>“Cause it never rings.” The owner stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He ended giving a death glare to where the ringing was coming from. </p><p>“But it’s ringing now.” Arthur pointed out, scanning the face of his lover for a clue of what was going on in his mind. </p><p>“Exactly.” </p><p>As the men where talking, Gwen had the time to walk over and she picked it up. Merlin stood up abruptly, gesturing her to put the phone down. But she only held her finger, focused on the voice on the other end. </p><p>“It's alright, it's just a phone.” Arthur came behind Merlin, caging the young man in his arms to reassure him. </p><p>“No. Someone has died.” Everybody stopped at the words of the dark haired man. </p><p>“Why would you say that?” Morgana spoke, trying to bring Merlin to his senses, and to stop him from going down that path. </p><p>“My mother. My mother has passed away.” He backed off from Arthur's embrace and clenched himself to one of the bookshelf, his eyes empty as he dropped his body on the floor. </p><p>Gwen was still on the phone, nodding and silently crying. </p><p>Arthur sat down next to Merlin, stroking his hair. The young man was twisting his fingers, looking so hard at the floorboards that he could have set it on fire. </p><p>“Which means Gwen’s pregnant.” He breathed out, a small smile appearing on his lips. </p><p>Arthur hugged him tighter. After two years spent together, he knew that Merlin could be peculiar, stuck in his own world. The young man often laughed about it, claiming that he might be mad but that it didn’t matter. But to Arthur, he was far from mad. He had a way of seeing the world  that was his own, a way to find comfort in a particular stain on a wall, or getting sad over a single branch of olive tree. So no, he was not mad. But his own world came with a price, the dichotomy of being a hopeful pessimist. </p><p>Gwen walked towards them once the phone call was over and kneeled by Merlin, placing a kiss on his forehead. </p><p>“Merlin.” Her voice was a caress, coated in cashmere. “I'm sorry.” She briefly looked at Arthur, who stared at the young man, not able to say anything. “Your mother passed away this morning.” </p><p>Merlin strangled a sob, and brought his knees to his chest, resting his chin on them. Arthur had let go of him, himself overcome with grief. Hunith had been like a mother to the blond, like a sister and an aunt. She had been the only person he was proud to call family and she was gone. He had a million question, how, when, where, but he found himself unable to form a coherent sound. </p><p>Lance and Morgana had joined them, standing slightly further back. </p><p>Merlin mumbled something, his gaze lost somewhere in-between reality and insanity. </p><p>“Come again?” Gwen encouraged him, glad to know that Merlin felt like saying something. </p><p>“I'm happy for you. You'll be a great mother.” </p><p>“I am not pregnant Merlin.” She raised her eyebrows momentarily in surprise before frowning in incomprehension. </p><p>“You are. That is how life works. The loss of a mother is replaced by the birth of one. That’s how the stars keep their balance. Hope in Death. Death in Life.” </p><p>“Let’s go to our room ok?” Arthur started, standing up slowly and offering his hand to Merlin. He turned around slightly as he spoke to the rest of the group. “You know where the spare keys to the front door are yeah? Please, just close everything on your way out.” Merlin held his hand and the blond helped him on his feet. The young man fell into the arms of his lover, unable to take even one step. </p><p>“Come.” Arthur murmured, slowly dragging Merlin away. It seemed like their room was on an other continent and once they finally reached it, it felt like a blessing. Arthur invited Merlin in their bed and they stayed there, in each other's embrace, until the sun called it a night and disappeared behind the buildings. None of them were asleep, but not awake either. </p><p>“Becoming an orphan hurts, no matter your age. Any elderly was once the child of a loving couple, and they turned into orphans. Even at eighty years of age, I am sure you still need the hug of your mother on some evenings.” Merlin spoke most of the time, but mostly to himself than to Arthur. Speaking continuously to shatter his own trail of thoughts. Speaking without interruption to interrupt his thoughts. Arthur held him closer. </p><p>“We need to go to Wales tomorrow.” The blond said after a while, as if he tried to comprehend the notion of Hunith's death, as if he tried to convince himself it was real. </p><p>“I wish we could bury her in her garden. She would have love that.” </p><p>“Where is your father buried?” </p><p>“He was lost at sea. So I guess he is buried everywhere and nowhere. He is in the ocean, in the rain, in everything alive. In his death, he slowly turned into the source of life.” </p><p>“Do you wish the same for your mother?” </p><p>“I wish for her to be alive again.” </p><p>“Burial at sea then.” Arthur breathed out, resting his head on Merlin's hair, his tears losing themselves in the messy dark curls. </p><p>And when dawn knocked at their door to wake them up, there was no one to extract from Morpheus’ grip. The two young men had talked all night, remembering her, re writing time and making up ‘if'. </p><p>“She made the best Yorkshire puddings" Merlin had said, a shy smile on. “Even if she was not related to Yorkshire. What are the puddings from Yorkshire tasting like you think?”</p><p>“I would say puddings from Yorkshire taste like Yorkshire puddings.”</p><p>“Surely they eat other things. Other puddings I mean. Or maybe they do a sweet version, with like rhubarb jam or custard. I’d like that I think.” </p><p>But it was time for them to go. They left a note on the coffee table for their friends, letting them know they could come and go as they pleased. And just like that, they were out of La Bohème. </p><p>Hunith's cottage was like frozen in time. Her cup of tea was still waiting to be washed by the sink, a saucepan was on the stove, expecting to be eaten soon. Her bed was undone on one side. Everything let them believe that she would open the front door any time, hug them tight enough to chock them before putting the kettle on. It was surreal, and too real. </p><p>Merlin strolled around his childhood home and stopped by the kitchen window, standing there as his mom used to love too, looking over the flowers. </p><p>“They will perish soon. They need love and care.” The young man whispered, his gaze lost in the sea of bloomed hyacinths and daffodils, worthy of a Monet. </p><p>“We could take care of them.” Arthur offered, embracing Merlin and nestling his chin on his shoulder, joining him in his contemplation. </p><p>“I don’t think I can. I don’t think I want to.” </p><p>In the church of the nearest village, they stood out front, as the world came to say goodbye to her. Merlin could not take his eyes off of the coffin, unaware that the church was crowded, cramped with every soul in the county. Outside, in the humble garden surrounding the edifice, more people were gathered to celebrate Hunith’s life. </p><p>Arthur was overwhelmed by the amount of people that came. She was Kindness and Benevolence and she had made an impact on his life, but not only it seemed. Softly at first, the two young men could faintly hear some voices outside. As the voices became more confident, they held each other's hand. This tiny Welsh village, lost between the land and the sea, was singing for Hunith, in this language which was foreign to Arthur and yet, he understood the Kindness and Benevolence of these people, an homage to Hunith, a final act of Love for the woman. </p><p>The whole church was now alive with voices, making the wall tremble under their symphony, and Arthur held onto Merlin as he felt himself becoming overcome by the spectacle. The young man brought him closer to him, his eyes red and puffed yet grinning. They both almost forgot how to breath, and as the voices harmonised, in that way that God himself only had one choice ; to listen, Merlin joined in, faintly. </p><p>“Ar hyd y nos[*]” </p><p>The church emptied itself, candles lit on the walls, and they stayed there, sitting on one of the wooden bench, not letting the other go. </p><p>An old man came and sat by them, and a peaceful silent enveloped the three men as they looked at Hunith one last time. </p><p>“We are leaving for the Isle of Wight in half an hour.” The old man said, not taking his eyes away from his sister. </p><p>“Thank you Gaius.” </p><p>They had arranged the burial at sea which would take place the next day, lost on a small island for her to join Balinor once again. Next to her body was the picture once hanging on her kitchen wall, and Merlin smiled, at peace to them reunited at last. </p><p>And as her coffin disappeared in the water, swallowed by the sea, it all felt like the end and the beginning. Hope in Death. Death in Life. </p>
<hr/><p>It was June 1984, at La Bohème, somewhere in London. If you were lost, you could look and find Cyndi Lauper, time after time. British unemployment was at a record high of around 3 266 000. 120 were arrested during a mass lobby by striking minors. On the coffee table, next to Gwaine’s ashtray was Hunith cleaned porcelain cup. </p><p>Morgana offered herself to organize the back bookshelf, from which she had read more than half. Merlin could not see a reason to refuse, and so she was standing at the back of the shop, mountains of books around her and a naked bookshelf for only companion that day. Lance and Gwen were talking to each other, their voice so low that no-one could hear them. Elyan, Gwen's brother, had come to visit London for a week and he was lost in a conversation with Arthur about the newly marketed Apple Macintosh. </p><p>On the floor, Merlin was laying on his back, eyes locked on the ceiling. It was white, and he imagined what having it made out of glass would be like. He would like it, if he was not at the ground floor of a building. He shrugged, deciding that seeing under the skirt of his neighbour was not worth a glass ceiling. He rolled on his belly and stretched his arm under the table to grab the book he had started to read. </p><p>It had been a good month for La Bohème, and Merlin had sold a fair amount of books. A vast majority to a man named Leon, a professor who had been amazed by the selection that Merlin had to offer. </p><p>And Leon came once every week now, always leaving with at least one purchase. </p><p>“Just so you know, this is a queer bookshop.” Merlin had said one day, feeling like he had to say it. In the past, he had lost some regular customers because of it, but he’d rather lose a few pounds that allowing people, who would rather see him dead, in his house. </p><p>Leon had gave him a small smile, holding a selection of books in his arms. </p><p>“I had guessed as much young man.” He had pointed to Arthur. “The way he looks at you. The way you look at him. Those authors would have been lucky to write about you two.” He had toyed with his wedding ring mindlessly. </p><p>“There would be nothing to write. You can’t make a book with a single word.” Merlin had replied, eyeing Arthur furtively, beaming. </p><p>“And what would that word be?” Leon had inquired, his curiosity peaking. </p><p>“Providence.” </p><p>Leon had nodded, before leaning towards the owner. </p><p>“You would be surprised what a single word book can create. A story does not have to be put onto paper. You can write it with gestures, stolen gazes and unspoken promises.” He had straighten back and had handed a twenty pound note to Merlin for the three books. </p><p>Merlin opened his book and started to read where he had stopped earlier. Morgana could be heard cursing after the crash of one of the book piles and they all laughed. </p><p>“Alright guys.” Lance got everybody's attention when he stood up. “Morgana, come back for a sec please.” He shouted towards the back and she appeared just a second later, her normally immaculate outfit whitened by dust and her hair slightly messy. </p><p>Merlin moved around and sat on his heels, tilting his head as his eyes danced between Lance and Gwen. He then crawled towards Arthur and hugged his leg, his fingers tinkling on it. </p><p>“So...” Gwen stopped and looked over at her brother. “I'm pregnant.” </p><p>The room broke into a loud cacophony of cheers and congratulations. Merlin helped himself up by climbing up Arthur's knees and throw his arms around him. </p><p>“I told you. The balance is restored.” He said proudly. </p><p>Was it really a question of balance of the universe? Or Merlin sneakily implanting the idea of a child in Gwen's and Lancelot's mind? The couple did not know. All they knew, it that Gwen was almost four months pregnant, and they could not contain their joy. </p><p>Morgana pulled Gwen into a tight hug, and hide her tears of joy in the long brown locks. Elyan shook Lance's hand, congratulating them. </p><p>“I could not have wished for a better man for my sister.” He said, fondly looking at Gwen who was glowing with love and the promise of a child. </p><p>“I could not have wished for a better mother.” His eyes watered slightly. “Oh hell, come here.” And he hugged Elyan, both men ecstatic. </p><p>Arthur tapped Merlin's back to let him know to move slightly so he could stand up. He congratulated Gwen and Lancelot, a smiling from ear to ear. </p><p>“Just don’t ask me to help you build the crib.” The blond joked. The door of the bathroom was still not fixed, but they all had came to term with it. It was never meant to be apparently. But the beautiful new piece of wood was doing the job, despite having to lift it to come and go. </p><p>Morgana broke her embrace with Gwen slightly. </p><p>“It's fine! I’ll build it for you!” </p><p>“Oi! Does that mean you could have fixed that door ages ago?” Arthur exclaimed, falsely outraged.</p><p>“But does any of us would want that?” She laughed and Merlin agreed silently. </p><p>Shyly and hesitant, he sat on the sofa and stared at Gwen's belly before tugging on her tunic. </p><p>“Gwen? Could I please... talk to...” </p><p>The woman looked at him tenderly and sat on the armrest, stroking his dark hair lovingly. </p><p>“Yes Merlin. You can. Thanks for asking.” She kissed the top of his head and he bit his bottom lips. </p><p>“Alright. Well. Welcome to La Bohème little one. I hope this will be child safe. And you can chew the books as much as you want. It’s fine. You’ll see, you’ll be raised by wonderful people, and they will love you like they never loved before. And maybe one day they will scold you for something meaningless right? But it doesn’t mean they don’t love you. Just remember to not drool on Morgana's outfit cause that would be a diplomatic incident. I wish you would get to meet Gwaine. You would have loved to pull his hair in your tiny fists. And Arthur might be grumpy but he is lovely, I promise. You are about to come to this world in the most loving place on earth, and I’ll do everything to keep you safe alright? So yeah. Welcome. I can’t wait to meet you.” He was twisting his fingers anxiously, submerged by panic at the idea of such a tiny human joining them. Fears he had never he know he would experience were now assaulting him. </p><p>Gwen abandoned his hair and grabbed his hand instead, placing it in top of the tiny bump. He turned his head back at her, chuckling. </p><p>“Thank you Merlin.” </p>
<hr/><p>It was September 1984, at La Bohème, somewhere in London. U2 was letting you know that they could take your life but they could not take your pride. A food poisoning outbreak in two Yorkshire hospitals claimed 20 lives. DNA fingerprinting had been discovered. The UK and the People's Republic of China signed the initial agreement regarding the future of Hong Kong. It was warm for the season and the sun was bathing the bookshop through the bay window, casting playful shadows on the floorboards. Gwen was seven months pregnant and the sofa had become hers in an unspoken agreement. </p><p>Leon had gotten her a knitted jumper that his wife had made especially for her. He was now sitting with them time to time for a coffee or a small chat. </p><p>“Yeah, you’re straight, and?” Merlin had told him once. “What’s the point of fighting for our rights if it’s to segregate people based on their sexuality?” And that had been it. </p><p>However, despite the sun shining through, and Gwen’s smile warming everybody's heart, one shadow was not cast by the celestial marvel. </p><p>“Have you eaten this morning?” Lance had enquired the previous week, as Merlin was laying on the floor, struggling to focus on the words. </p><p>“I did yes.” And Arthur had nodded to confirm. The blond was also struggling to hide his concern, as Merlin had gone from a lean man to alarming skinny, no matter how much he ate. His skin was not the marble like colour he once described, but a tern chalk mixture, strewn with purple patches here and there.   </p><p>They had talked about it, but Merlin had brushed it off, refusing to acknowledge his state. Arthur had tried to explain it by Hunith’s passing putting a strain on Merlin well being but he knew it was something else. </p><p>It had been Morgana who first addressed the elephant in the room. </p><p>“You should get tested Merlin. If not for you, do it for us.” She had not looked up from her book, trying to bury her own worries. <br/>
Gwaine's words were reverberating on the walls of La Bohème. But Merlin knew that he had never slept with Gwaine, not even once. And his thoughts must have shown on his face as Morgana had put down her book and had taken a deep inhale. </p><p>“I know you would like to forget about those few months. I know you’re over it and I’m so ever proud of you. Mordred’s overdose has been a shock to all of us, and  no one could have bear the idea of losing you to heroin as well. But, have you considered that during those times, you had not be as cautious as you might want to believe?” </p><p>The room had fallen silent. Arthur had learnt about this part of Merlin's life, and they had talked about it openly, the young man not afraid to admit he had hit rock bottom. </p><p>“I could shut up my mind. It was great. But then, the world became so lifeless. The colours were just colours, the sounds were just sounds, nothing was dancing around me, and the words? They became just that. Words. I could not take it any longer. My mind was finally taking a break, and I was thankful for it. But I realised that I missed it. I missed seeing words and smelling colours and... then Mordred overdosed, and I was done. So was Gwaine. He refused to put us through an other burial. So we sobered up together. If only he knew he would still be the first to go, trust me, he would never have stopped.” Merlin had saddly laughed. </p><p>Morgana had stared at him as he frowned. Lance and Gwen had been trying to understand what the long haired woman meant. Arthur had rubbed his temples, and had spoken, refusing to open his eyes. </p><p>“Needles.” </p><p>Morgana had hummed. Lance and Gwen had let go of each other's hand, their heart suddenly heavy. </p><p>Merlin had stood up, and had snatched a jacket resting on a stool and had stormed off, barefoot. He had left La Bohème, left his safe space, without saying a word. He had come back two hours later, and no further words had been spoken. </p><p>And on that sunny day, as Gwen was melting into a woollen jumper and talking with Arthur about her due date, as Leon and Lance were discussing the ongoing miners strike, Merlin was sitting on the floor, his back resting on a book shelf, a letter laying by his side.</p><p>“I'm a queen bee.” He said, his voice flat. </p><p>“What did you say?” Arthur asked him to repeat, everybody's attention directed on the young bookshop owner. </p><p>Merlin buried his face in his hands and took a deep breath.</p><p>“I'm a queen bee. But I’m afraid there’s been a mutiny. The hive is taking control. I'm longing for my wings, for the hive is tearing them apart, chewing them and breaking them.” He stood up and shuffled his hair, before resting his hands on his hips. The rest was barely audible, a whisper lost in his lamenting breathing. “ Long live the queen. The queen is dead.” Without looking back at the group, he left to his room, the door closing slowly behind him. </p><p>Arthur stared back at everybody, in shock. After almost three years spent with his lover, he had learn to decipher his words, but just this once, he wished it was just nonsensical mumbling. Just this once, he wished Merlin was mad. </p><p>Morgana was repeating the young man's words to herself, trying to give them sense. Leon held his cup of coffee before his face, his gaze empty, hit by the meaning of it all. </p><p>“No.” That’s all Arthur could say. Because Merlin could not be dying. It did not make sense. They were allowed a lifetime together. That’s how it was meant to be. A lifetime of bitter coffee, stale bread, beans in tins, spilled ink and filled notebooks. </p><p>He dragged his body to their room, drunk on doom. He pushed the wooden door and found his other half curled up on their mattress, turning his back to the door. Arthur laid by his side and cuddled him, and Merlin broke down. His sobs were cut short by dry coughs and whines, and Arthur tighten his grip, hoping it would be enough to keep him with him forever. </p><p>“It's not fair. My written stories are supposed to be the unfinished one. Mine is meant to be complete. I don’t want to go. Not now.”  He slightly moved back and rested his head on the pillow, looking at the blond. “Arthur... I'm scared.” </p><p>“I’m frightened.” Arthur cried out, drawing the lines of Merlin's hollow cheeks with the tip of his fingers. And he kissed him, pleading it would be enough to give some life back to the man he loved. He was ready to bargain with the forgotten deities so he could offer his own life for him, for Merlin to never leave this place. They were nothing but two anonymous dots in this never stopping mad merry-go-around that was life, yet Arthur wished Time itself would defy its natural course and just hang on, for just a lifetime.</p><p>“When I'll d-"</p><p>“If.” Arthur corrected the young man, not believing in his own hope himself.  </p><p>“When I’ll die, I want to go while I’m still me.” Merlin interlaced his legs with Arthur's, brushing off some blond hair falling on his lover's face.</p><p>“What are you saying?” Arthur shifted closer to him, sharing the same breath. Nothing existing apart from the other's eyes. But Merlin turned on his back, covering his face with his arm, his chest raising painfully. Arthur did the same, but stared at the chipped ceiling. <br/>
“Promise me that you’ll let me when I’ll want to. Promise me to not hold me back in this world.” </p><p>“I can’t. I never could.” </p><p>“Arthur. I’m begging you.” </p><p>They did not say anything else, Arthur's tears being his promise. Their hands found each other's, in the safety of their nest. Arthur's thumb was drawing circles on Merlin's skin, soothing the young man. </p><p>“We should leave.” Arthur's eyes were still locked on the ceiling, unable to look at Merlin. It was easier to talk like this, pretending to think out loud. </p><p>“Where?” </p><p>“Anywhere really. Coventry, Liverpool, Blackpool, Aberystwyth, Bath. Scotland, Ireland, Wales. Paris. Somewhere else, somewhere out of time.” </p><p>“And abandon La Bohème?”</p><p>“Maybe. What would this place be without you?”</p><p>“What would I be without this place?” </p><p>“What would I be without you?” </p><p>“Nothing makes sense anymore doesn't it?”</p><p>“If you taught me one thing Merlin, is that not everything has to make sense to exist.”</p><p>“Maybe I’ll make sense when I’m gone.”</p><p>“I hope not. I want to spend my life wondering about my mad word whisperer.” </p><p>“I shall die senseless then.” </p>
<hr/><p>It was September 1985, somewhere in Wales, place no one could pinpoint on a map, a place where its inhabitant could not care less about maps anyway. Dire Strait was playing on the MTV. A joint American-French expedition located the wreck of the MS Titanic, 73 years after it had sank. Rioting motivated by racial tension broke out in Birmingham. Margaret Thatcher hoped to start her third term in office.  </p><p>Merlin was sitting at the small table in his mother's garden, his coffee cooling down before him. </p><p>Three weeks after the news of his AIDS diagnosis, they decided to leave everything behind. They might have a month, a year left together and as selfish as it sounded, they decided to live through their time alone, locked in Hunith's cottage, locked outside of the world. </p><p>Packing La Bohème had been easier that they would have imagined, for them at least, knowing they were just moving it to the country side. Lance and Morgana had helped them to box all the books, while Gwen was sitting on the sofa, making a list of them all. Merlin had told them to grab what they wanted, and he donated the rest to Leon. </p><p>“I wish I could be buried with my books.” Merlin had said that day, dropping a copy of Macbeth in a cardboard box. </p><p>“I can burn one everyday and by doing so, you'll live through the fumes for as long as the fire will consume the pages.” Arthur had replied, holding a copy of Death of a Naturalist. </p><p>“If you dare to even just think about burning a bookmark,” he had snatched the book from Heaney out of Arthur's hand, “I will drag you six feet under and you’ll have to deal with an angry me for eternity.” </p><p>“Now you’re just tempting me.” </p><p>Merlin took a sip of his coffee, letting his pen dance freely on his note book. The birds were singing, covering his coughing. Arthur had enveloped him in a knitted blanket as his frail body was constantly cold. </p><p>Not long after, Arthur appeared outside with a bowl of porridge that he placed next to his lover's coffee. The young man frowned and played mindlessly with the spoon, moving it around. Next to him  the blond pulled a metal chair and sat by his side, his hand resting on the wool covered thigh. </p><p>“You should eat.” He said after a while as Merlin totally ignored the food. </p><p>“I’d rather have bread.” The writer whined, biting the end of his pencil. </p><p>“I know.” But he also knew that it was important for Merlin to actually eat other things than bread in his condition. In the last year, he had become even thinner, his skin almost grey and even smiling was too tiring for him. Every morning was a victory, every night a curse. He dreaded the day Merlin would tell him it would be the last, the day Merlin would tell him he was ready to go. They tried trivialized the inevitable in their daily life, but it never took the pain away. </p><p>“Do you think my corpse could grow lilacs?” Merlin had asked one evening has they were cuddling by the fireplace. </p><p>“Maybe you can try to eat some seeds. Statistically, at least one should take roots.” Arthur had replied, taking a sip of his hot chocolate. He had tucked Merlin a bit  tighter as the young man had shivered slightly. He had handed him some fudge they had bought at the market the previous day and Merlin had happily munched on it. </p><p>“But I want to be lilacs after I’m dead. If I eat the seeds now, I will become a lilac whilst still alive, and that’s not practical.” </p><p>“I’m not sure that’s how it works.” </p><p>“Fine. What about orchids though?” </p><p>Merlin ate a spoon of porridge, pouting. After the third spoon, he dropped the cutlery, nestling himself against Arthur. </p><p>“I can’t.” He said, eyes half closed, his muscles aching. </p><p>“Hold on.” The blond dragged the table closer to them and took the bowl. He kissed Merlin's forehead softly. “Let’s try to manage half the bowl alright?” The young man nodded slowly. Arthur filled half the spoon and fed him, his eyes trailing along the lines of his lover’s profile. It hurt to see him like that, the ghost of the once bubbly man reciting poetry at three in the morning because he could not sleep. Now, he could not hold a book long enough to read two lines. </p><p>They had received a lovely book from Lance and Gwen two weeks ago, filled with pictures of them and their little Ella. Each picture had something written on them, and Merlin held onto the book all night, refusing to let it go. Some pictures showed Morgana awkwardly holding Ella and it had made the two men laugh for while. </p><p>“They are going to be great parents.” Merlin had breathed out, his fingers caressing one picture. “I am almost glad I never got to held her, I would not have been able to let her go. To let myself go.” </p><p>“I am sure they understand.” Arthur had been stroking Merlin's hair all the time they had been looking through the book. </p><p>“But will they ever forgive us for leaving them behind?” </p><p>“I think they did.” The blond had stated, closing the book, letting his fingers run on the cover.</p><p>Arthur placed the half-eaten porridge back on the table, and closed Merlin’s notebook. It had been almost two years since the blond had bought them for him, and the first one had been completed. Merlin insisted on filling up the three of them as his way to complete his own story. </p><p>“I can’t die if one page is still blank. That simply can not happen.” </p><p>“Yet you work everyday on filling them up.” Arthur had pointed out. </p><p>“Cause life is unfair and I’m pretty sure I’ll die when I’ll be writing the last page. It’s like a race I can’t win. If I take my time? Death will take its Time. If I rush? Death will rush. She is lurking behind the wall, waiting for me to press my pen on the last page to claim me, laughing at the dying author.” </p><p>“So if Death will take its time, if you take your time, why are your rushing?” </p><p>“Cause Pain could not care less about Death's schedule. And Pain is rushing.” </p><p>Arthur stood up, the metal chair screeching on the patio floor tiles. He helped Merlin up, and they stumbled back inside the cottage where they fell on the sofa. </p><p>“You should try to sleep.” </p><p>“I don’t have to try.” The young man replied, his eyes already closed. </p><p>Arthur kept him in his arms, refusing to let him go despite being too warm. He could have all the time in the world, he would never be ready and he knew it. He had lost his father, Gwaine, Hunith and as bad as he felt about it, he knew nothing would compare to losing Merlin. Losing his mad man, losing his voice, his wit, his little world, his kisses, his body, his mind, his heart. </p><p>He had gave up his flat, his career, his family ; he had left London and everybody behind but he still felt complete, as Merlin was softly purring in his arms. </p><p>He had not dared imagine what would be coming after that day. He could not picture life carrying on without Merlin in it. It did not make sense. </p><p>“I will never truly be gone though.” </p><p>“Not truly. But mostly.” Arthur had responded, his voice breaking. </p><p>“You'll remember me. How could you forget me?” </p><p>“How could I indeed.” He had chuckled, feeding the fireplace. </p><p>They both fell asleep on the sofa of Hunith's cottage. The birds were still singing, the garden was still lively, the earth was still turning. That day had been an other victory. </p>
<hr/><p>Sometime in 1986, somewhere on earth. Somewhere, something must have happened. Somewhere, someone must have been singing. Surely, the sun must have been somewhere. </p><p>Arthur opened his eyes, lulled by the soft morning light caressing his face. Like every morning, he made sure that Merlin was still breathing, a macabre routine to ease his heart. </p><p>The young man moved slightly, moaning as he tried to move his body to face his lover. </p><p>“Morning.” Arthur spoke, his voice raspy. Merlin opened his eyes, drowned in not yet shed tears. </p><p>“The clear weather of Juniper,” The young man started, his own voice breaking on each word, his breathing cut short by strangled sobs. </p><p>“No. Don’t.” Arthur cut him and cracked, his arms reaching for his lover desperately. But Merlin only shook his head, his eyes never leaving his lover's. </p><p>“Darkened into winter. She fed gin to sloes and sealed the glass container.” He nodded softly as Arthur reached for the box on their bedside table, his fingers trembling, his vision blinded. “When I unscrewed it, I smelled the disturbed tart stillness of a bush rising through the pantry.” He grabbed the box and stared at the pills in his hands. </p><p>“I don’t want to hear it. For this time, just this time, I don’t want to listen. I don't want-" Arthur crumbled,  his while body shaking and his eyes painfully locked on the man his loved. </p><p>“When I poured it, it had cutting edge and flamed like Betelgeuse.” He reached for the bottle of water placed under his pillow and straighten back in bed. Dragging his body was like dragging a carcass and the pain blocked a breath in his chest. Arthur rushed to him and held him, helping him. He gripped every part of the man, trying to pull him back in time, back to London, back to La Bohème, back to a time where they were young, back to a time they were happy. </p><p>Merlin’s hand struggled to open the bottle. Arthur's placed his on top and turned the cap as slowly as he could, because no matter what, he was not ready. He would never be. The young man took the pills, and dropped his head backward, his jaw clenched as a small chuckled escaped his lips one last one time. He brought the bottle to his lips, and hesitated for a second, but not longer. </p><p>“I drink to you,” he breathed out, half the bottle downed, “in smoke-mirled, blue-black, bitter and dependable.” He throw himself on Arthur's lips, for it was the last thing he ever wanted to touch, to taste, to see, to feel and if only he had one regret, it would be Arthur's cries, the last thing he ever heard. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>
It was sometime in 1996, at what used to be La Bohème, somewhere in London. It was, oh so quiet, according to Björk. John Major was Prime minister, Freddie Mercury was no more. Nirvana had the time to reach its apogee before meeting its tragic end. The channel tunnel could take you from London to Paris in just a carriage. 581 428 people and Arthur had contracted HIV. Some carried it without developing AIDS, other did not have that chance. </p><p>Arthur stood on the grey pavement, contemplating the wooden door of a building that had not welcome anyone in its heart in a decade.</p><p>La Bohème. The last testimony of a time that came to pass. La Bohème; it meant “we are happy”. La Bohème; it meant “ you're beautiful “. La Bohème; it meant “we all had talent”. La Bohème; it meant “we were young, we were mad". La Bohème ; it didn’t mean anything, anymore. </p><p>Arthur kneeled by the door, and placed a book in the corner. He kissed the tip of his fingers and pressed it against the cover, his heart and his eyes crying. <br/>
He helped himself up with the handle and took a single lilac flower from his pocket that he placed in the key hole. </p><p>“You did die senseless, and the world got to see it.” </p><p>Laying against the wooden door was the vestige of one more story, for the cover read “Epigrams and other Aphorisms, by Merlin Emerson.”</p><p>It was anytime. Anywhere. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*Sloe gin, by Seamus Heaney. This first takes place in 1982, however this was published in 1984. But in 1982, Heany was already a published poet, so we may accept this anachronism. </p><p>** Dialogue from Chapter 65 of The Adonis in the Sunlight by Dumbhotbitchknightgwaine</p><p>*** Quote from The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde</p><p>**** Quote from Shakespeare's Tempest </p><p>[*] Welsh song. Ar hyd y nos would translate to “All through the night” </p><p>Author's note : </p><p>Gwaine is diagnosed with LAV, which was how AIDS was first refered as.</p><p>Merlin is tested late 1984, however the first HIV test is accessible to the public in March 1985. It is a small anachronism, but I feel it’s important to know.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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